


Théâtre Râleur

by ilovecharles



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Breathplay, Daddy Kink, F/M, Safeword Use, Size Kink, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 04:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19165918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovecharles/pseuds/ilovecharles
Summary: My first ever Dutch fanfiction, only a mini-fic. Reader is a ballet dancer, Dutch simply cannot take his eyes off of you on stage, so he decides that with the help of Hosea's charisma he is going to woo you back stage. Only you have other plans.





	Théâtre Râleur

His eyes fixated on the stage in fascination as the sight before him. The dancers glided with precision meeting every move with perfection and grace; the frills adorning their outfits leaving slight shadows against their rosy completions in the spotlights that speckled upon the theatre’s stage. His eyes simply couldn’t tear themselves away from you, though; your hair tied back in a strict bun behind your head, leaving your beautiful face on full show before him. The other dancers did ringlets around you in unison, their legs and arms flailing to the violin's melodies from the gramophone beside the long scarlet curtains on each side. Your own body waving a dance of its own that outshone the other ballerinas; you were the main attraction. 

The elderly man beside him, Hosea Matthews, nudged suddenly against his arm before leaning over and whispering something about the production in awe, Dutch simply nodded in agreement at his friend, his eyes still planted against your pirouetting frame. His gaze slid up your long lean legs following the thin ribbons of silk that wound their way in pretty patterns up your calves before knotting in place – he imagined those legs wrapped around his waist whilst he appreciated the rest of your beautiful body with his lips and large hands. The fabric around your chest and torso clutched elegantly at your breasts, cupping them in place securely throughout your dance. Your cinched hips were hidden with layers of pearly white feathers that spread out in a pointed skirt around you. 

Dutch’s trousers tightened against him as he imagined the soft skin hidden underneath, his long erection felt painfully constricted against his black trousers as he shifted irritably in his seat – it certainly didn’t help when you lent forward in a bow with the other dancers as the room erupted in applause. 

Hosea chuckled from his own seat – clearly quite amused at the reaction of the man beside him. “Calm down there, old man.” He laughed as he stood to applause, chuckling even more when Dutch couldn’t do the same due to his slight issue. The velvet curtains were tethered together upon the stage and the spotlights dimmed as people began to make their way to the theatre’s exit. Dutch brought his thoughts back to the gutter to distract himself from the hardness below, he thought quickly of the night before in Shady Belle where Uncle got carried away with his old friend, whisky, and danced around the campfire with the flap of his long johns loose with the wind blowing against his bare behind. 

“Listen here: the whole performance you stared at that poor woman like a bitch in heat.” Hosea muttered whilst smiling politely at the other socialites that sauntered past in their big city suits. Dutch chuckled back at his friend's nonchalance, slightly distracted by thoughts of your bare body beneath him. 

Both men made their way to the bar; Hosea let his charisma loose on the bartender and scored them both a discounted bottle of champagne whilst Dutch grabbed a few glasses from atop the counter. Hosea spoke as he clutched at the bottle. “You make your way backstage to her dressing room; I’ll distract the guards with my good ol’ charm. I could do with some good conversation.” Hosea teased, they separated in the theatres lobby; Hosea began to mingle with the theatre’s ticket man as Dutch slipped past, grabbing a single red rose from a bouquet that sat elegantly upon a pedestal beside him. 

He wandered throughout the corridor backstage, reading the names etched into silver signs upon each door: ‘Hector Bellefleur, Mallory Fontaine, Jonathan Gulliver’, none of them seemed to match, he read through each sign becoming inpatient before landing at the end of the corridor and reading the last sign before him ‘___ ___’. The letters curled delicately on his tongue, a beautiful name for a beautiful face. He let out a deep breath and clutched the rose to his chest before knocking confidently against the wooden door. 

A moment passed before the door clicked open. He was met with your eyes smiling brightly into his, a long cream silk robe wrapped elegantly around you, a slight cleavage was exposed above the loosely tied centre and your hair fell in soft ringlets around face. Your features slowly became alarmingly concerned. 

“Good evening, Miss ____. I jus-” Dutch spoke, offering you the red rose, before he was interrupted by your nervous tone. 

“Mr Van Der Linde. You got some guts showin’ your face here.” You swung the door open before hesitantly lifting a printed bounty poster up, his face was plastered upon it with a hefty sum in bolt font below. “Lawmen out for you. Dead or alive. Got them plastered on every corner of the city, mister.” You continued before your features softened, you never could resist a gunslinger. “Don’t you worry, I won’t tell.” His own concerned eyes softened in response and you accepted the rose before lifting it to your nose and smelling its sweet scent, your eyes fluttered closed as you inhaled its beauty. You opened them and he tore his gaze away from your chest in a fluster. The reaction caused a fleet of butterflies to set loose in your lower abdomen and the heat between your legs caused a sudden daring spontaneity to arise in you. You brought your free hand to push away the wisps of hair that covered parts of your chest before pulling down the silk on your shoulder to hang loosely around your upper arm: if he was going to look, then you may as well give him a better view. 

“Why don’t you come in Mr Van Der Linde?” You cooed seductively whilst stepping aside with a hand outstretched to the room, welcoming him in. He nodded a smile and stepped into your dressing room, you shut the door behind him as he took a quick pan of the new space: old photographs of dancers you idolised lined the walls, a dainty dresser with a box of other ballet outfits, a small vanity pressed against the wall in the small room, atop of its surface lay your beauty products – rouges, combs, lipsticks and the like. 

“I just wanted to tell you your dancing was...exquisite, and, please, call me Dutch.” He said calmly whilst his eyes drifted around the room. 

His confidence had you feeling shy and very hot under the confines of the silk around you; you danced in front of hundreds of pompous rich folks every day, shy wasn’t a feeling you were used to. “Alright, Dutch, thank you.” You whispered nervously.

He hummed in appreciation before turning to you again, he lay a hand against the wood of the door beside your head before taking a single step forward, your bodies practically pressed together. His free hand came up to pull slowly on the knot of your gown, it fell to your feet in a puddle of silk along with the red rose. The cool air of your dressing room hit your skin in a rush, brushing harshly against the heated skin between your legs and the sensitive buds that peaked upon your heavy breasts against his covered chest. His breath hitched in his throat as he admired the perfection of the body before him, his teeth grazed against his top lip and he bit down to suppress a moan as his fingers brushed gently against your most sensitive areas. You sighed in approval, and let out a silent beg for him to make another move against your skin. Only, he was enjoying the tease too much, so he ignored your silent pleas.

His lips came down to suck gently against the skin of your collar, and you released a moan in response – your hands came up to work against the buttons of his red leather vest but his own hands came to pull them away before the last button was set free. “This is about you.” He moaned through the assault of your skin; you were too heated to disobey his orders and instead decided to just enjoy his teasing. You felt his fingers begin to work almost rapidly against the lips of your pussy, spreading the wetness between them across the entirety whilst his thumb did figure eights against your swollen clit. The pleasure sent electricity like shocks to your nerves and you felt like you’d explode from the feelings he was giving you – your mind went fuzzy from the desire and your mouth began to mutter words of approval without you even thinking. 

“Yes...y-yes.” Your eyes began to brim with tears at the pleasure as his and fingers continued their torturous assault. 

The empty corridor behind your door was dead silent, the only person that walked it was the approaching stage hand that came to check on you after the show. He pressed an ear against the door before calling out, asking if you were okay. “Yes...yes...fuck yes.” His eyes widened at your response; confusion settled in his mind before he answered with a nervous laugh at your enthusiasm, shouting a remainder of your next showtime before scurrying off backstage.

Before the pleasure built to your impending orgasm Dutch lifted you up from the back of your thighs, they clutched around his hips fervently and he carried you over the other side of the room, before letting you down onto your feet and instructing you to bend over the top of your vanity. You did as you were told, pushing the contents atop of it onto the floor without a thought of hesitation, tubes of lipstick and compacts of rouge thudded against the rug below. The cold surface of the mirror pressed against your cheek and your breasts rest against the vanities wooden surface, but the quickly ignored the sensations and pushed it to the back of your mind. 

The sound of a belt buckle behind you rung throughout your ears and you rubbed your thighs together with anticipation as your perky ass presented itself proudly to the man behind. His voice broke the heated silent with a playful husky hint to his tone. “Were ‘gonna play a little game, darlin’. You get ten lashes of this belt against this ass...” He interrupted himself with a light slap to rounded skin, a hungry whimper escaped you at the feeling. “...and if you make any little sound at all, like you did just then; I’m ‘gonna replace the next lash with one right here.” This time his fingers connected to the skin of your clit, they pinched slowly and gently at the bundle of nerves and you tried your best to hold back the urge to beg him to just fuck you. 

Dutch wrapped the loose end of the thick belt around his wrist, what remained was a steady leather loop. The first smack of the belt landed with a harsh blow to your skin, the pain melded perfectly with the pleasure and you bit down onto your lip to suppress a scream. Two more blows met against the skin and you fought internally with the pleasure, your legs rubbing together to create friction where you needed it the most, your mind began to focus on the delicious sensations that your thighs created and you became distracted, forgetting the need to be quiet, and a moaned ‘fuck’ escaped in response. 

He gave a wicked chuckle at this and tutted in amusement. “You we’re doing so well.” He teased before using the top of his boot to gently kick apart your feet, creating open access to your slick clit. The belt smacked against it harshly and you muffled a scream into your palm, tears streamed down your rouged cheeks as you slowly recovered from the pain. The next few blows went by in a breeze, the pain on your ass cheeks became a breeze in comparison to the torture on your clit, and when the last blow came you ass was completely prepared for the force, only he took the opportunity to meet the leather with your aching clit once more – you were completely caught off guard, a moaning weeping mess before him. 

He lent forward and pressed a sashay of kisses across your spine, praising you through each one. “You did so well, sweet girl.” He sighed in content, nipping at your lobe and breaking a defeated moan from your mouth again. His erection pressed hard against your backside and you reached a hand behind to rub along the silhouette, he gave a low growl but grabbed your hand and pulled it away once more, planting it harshly against the surface of your vanity. 

“Please. P-please.” Was the only word you could muster up as your mind fogged with intense arousal and desire. “I’ll do anything.” You begged, he just laughed in response, teasing you further by rubbing his erection against you in slow circles with his hips. 

“You’re seriously trying to barter for my cock?” His tone was cruel but calm and soft. “What a greedy whore.” His words laced along your earlobe as he continued nipping at its soft skin, you were so surrounded in pleasure that the cold leather against your neck didn’t even cross your mind until he tugged at it and forced your head back his. The belt pressed against your airways in a tight hold whenever he tugged at it, the end of it wound mercilessly in his hand; completely in his control. He moaned when you begged for him to pull it again, the humiliation sending intense shivers throughout your core. “If it gets too much, say ‘mercy’ or just grab the belt and I’ll take it away immediately.” He said sternly into your ear; clearly this was something he was very serious about – and why wouldn’t he be, you were putting your life in his hands?

His free hand trailed down to his trousers, unbuttoning them hungrily and guiding his himself between your parted legs. The thick tip pressed harshly against your clit, poking it teasingly before inching down to your soaked entrance and slipping past to enter your tight pussy. You moaned as he stretched you out, waiting for him to bottom out inside of you. It felt like he’d never stop, inch after inch pushed inside of you and you took it all like greedy whore, practically screaming when he finally hit your end.

A moment passed and he shuffled slightly inside of you, helping you get used to his impressive size. The first thrust was coupled with an equally hard tug of the belt around your neck. You moaned out as both your pussy and your airways constricted. Each thrust was met with another following straight after, a towering pleasure kept building rapidly inside of you and you watched in the vanity mirror as he thrust into you mercilessly. His eyes with yours in the glasses reflection and never broke away.

“Call me ‘daddy’ when you’re about to cum – be a good little girl for me.” You let out a surprised moan at his words and you felt even more wetness begin to pool around his cock, he noticed this too and responded with a pained curse under his breath. “Shit, darlin’.”

After a few more deep and forceful thrusts you felt a familiar flame begin to arise in your abdomen and you chased it with each push back against his deliciously long cock until it set ablaze your body, each nerve felt electrified by the pleasure and your eyes began to falter with the pleasure. “Holy fuck! D-daddy, please!” A struggled scream of his new name left your lips as the leather pressed down upon the muscles your neck, only intensifying your strong orgasm. A loud gruff moan sounded from him as you said those erotic words. 

He fucked you cruelly through your climax, each scream and jolt of your body causing his cock to twitch in response. His thrusts didn’t stop, not even in your come down and you met his gaze again in the mirror, mouthing a ‘mercy’ for him. His hips thrust in slow circular motions as he let the harsh leather from your neck loose before it fell to the ground with a muted thud. 

“Good girl, ____. A true whore knows her limits.” He cooed in your ear, your head still thumping from your climax. “Where do you want me?” He moaned softly.

“On my ass please, daddy.” You responded innocently, admiring the slight marks of your neck in the mirror. The name caught him off guard, not expecting to hear it again, and it set lose his own inevitable orgasm which he chased rapidly inside of you before pulling out and releasing thick ropes of creamy cum onto the sore red skin of your rounded ass. He took a step back and admired the view, watching as trails of cum made their way down your thighs and travelled to the folds of your pussy. 

You pulled out the small stool from underneath your vanity and daintily sat down upon it with shaky legs, not caring about staining the fabric with dry cum. You watched from the mirror whilst Dutch’s fingers worked at the buttons of his vest and tucked his softening, but still impressive, cock away. Your own fingers lifted a compact of red rouge up from the floor and began applying it it swift strokes upon your already flustered cheeks, your eyes travelled down to your plush lips before noticing that your lipstick was still perfectly stained upon them. The realisation hit you that, even after all of that, you hadn’t even kissed each other, as if reading your thoughts the man behind you took a step forward and lent down slightly, fingers lifted your chin slightly to the side and met his in a warm and slow embrace – his tongue danced with yours in a choreography not too dissimilar to the one you’re used to on stage. 

You broke apart from one another breathlessly before he broke the silence. “I have a friend waiting outside for me, you’re welcome to join us.” He spoke, his eyes sparkling intently into yours. Your thoughts drifted back to the theatre and you stood to lift the silver stopwatch from his pocket whilst checking the time, 10:30 pm.

“I’m afraid, Mr Van Der Linde, I have another crowd to please.” You smiled, your hand coming up to twist playfully around his dark ringlets before grabbing a photograph tucked into the corner of your mirror; it showed you in your usual ballerina attire, mid pirouette on stage. You brought the photograph to your rouge lips and kissed down upon it, leaving a red mark upon its print. He smiled down and accepted the photograph from your hand. 

“Well, in that case, I better go and take my seat – hate to miss a good show.” He chuckled, meeting your lips deliciously with his own once more before swiftly turning on his heel.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr @i-love-charles!


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